Resonance Gaiden: Consonant Interval
by Sealink
Summary: Cthinde returns to Hunting, and Craxan Prime, only to find it prickling with Colonial Marines. When a Hive stirs to defend itself, who can possibly win this threeway cage match? Rating up in later chapters.
1. Marines

_All characters in this work are fictional. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Aliens and Predator are obviously not mine, but all the characters created herein are, so please don't steal them._

_This is a side story for my other fanfic, Quality of Resonance. While you can read Consonant Interval and get enjoyment from it on its own, the story may seem confusing or lack meaning if you are not familiar with the characters. _

_See additional Author's Notes at the end._

**xXx**

Bagthak watched the ship's computer compile their course, the Jumps that would be required, the habitable planets that were nearby, and the known _kainde amedha_ hives. The silence ate at him, but there was little he could do for it; Cthinde was in one of his moods. He turned to look at the Clan leader.

It had been like this for months. Cthinde's hands seemed always clenched in fists, even when he was at rest. He was no longer the jovial drunk, but a hardened Clan leader, isolated and alone. Though his height was diminutive, or rather, _because_ his height was diminutive, he was revered in the _kehrite_, dealing a quick defeat to all that challenged him. Bagthak rather missed the talkative side, which rarely appeared any more.

"Where is our next destination?" Cthinde's voice was soft; he didn't need to be loud. Bagthak tapped a nearby menu, feeling his stomach turn as the system came up. It was one he knew, one they all knew, although how it had been dealt back out to them was anyone's guess. Usually the Council, who generally put together itineraries for out-bound ships, avoided sending Clans on repetitive Hunts, and since it had been so recently visited, it was highly out of the ordinary for it to come up in rotation again, much less to the Clan that had Hunted it only a few months before.

"B19-M," he said, without much fanfare, hoping that Cthinde would miss the significance. The star's identification on the charts was very different from its name; Craxan.

He did. "What kind of prey might we find on this planet?"

"Humans, certainly. It's well within their habitation zone."

"Oh?" There was a keen note of interest in Cthinde's voice. Ever since Escthta had seized that human, ever since _that_ time, Cthinde had an almost unhealthy interest in the Soft Meat. Even hunting large predators in groups, his own series of Great Hunts, had been no salve to his pride. Cthinde now nursed a personal grudge against humans, for better or for worse.

Cthinde sat up and rubbed his fingers together on each hand, warming his stilled nerves. Bagthak recognized that movement; the Leader itched for movement and something to do. The midday meal had just ended and the Blooded Hunters had already retired to their quarters to amuse themselves with whatever they did between the peak of the sun and the evening meal. Cthinde was irritated by the timing; a new location for their Hunts had roused his blood and he wanted to let off some steam.

Bagthak felt his own fist tightening; the ship had been quiet in the weeks since they left their last Hunt. It had been a Blooding Hunt for the eight or so unBlooded on board; only two had died in the ripping claws of the Hard Meat, and the other six were now Young Bloods.

The navigator chuckled low at the memory of Cthinde composing his Leader's Mark before deciding on an image of two vessels, two curved shapes put bowl to bowl, so that one opened up and one opened down. He had consulted a catalog of known Leader's Marks, and as soon as he had decided on his, he included it in a transmission to the Council and began to practice it. All six of the Young Bloods bore his Mark, and he had roared as loudly as they did in the _kehrite_ the night they returned.

Young Bloods would not be allowed down to the surface of Craxan Prime to Hunt, of course. Humans were too advanced for such newly fledged warriors and some had injuries yet unhealed from their Blooding.

"How much time until we arrive at B19-whatever?"

"We'll come out of the Jump this evening and cruise at sub-light speeds for nine hours."

"So, tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Liege."

**xXx**

Cthinde was on the bridge, waiting for Bagthak the next morning. He looked at the navigator sourly. "Move it, Bagthak, we haven't got all day."

"You're not seriously thinking of setting up and launching a Hunt _today_, are you?" Bagthak couldn't quite hide his incredulity. He was older than Cthinde, but his own trophy wall was unexemplary compared to the Royal Guard skull Cthinde had in the center of his. That was why Cthinde was leader and he wasn't, aside from the fact that Bagthak was happier being a Navigator. He, of all people, had the right to question the Leader's authority when it came to putting the ship in danger.

And a rush into Hunt would do exactly that. Without allowing time for a proper orbital insertion, with cloak, they risked detection, and it was wise to never underestimate humans, especially on their own land. They needed to do reconnaissance, make sure there were no human military transports in the area, no large convoys (as the humans were fond of traveling in) and definitely no other yautja ships. A Clan War would be devastating for the young Leader, and it wasn't something Bagthak was prepared to risk.

"I am, unless you've got any reason we shouldn't."

Bagthak frowned, looking at Cthinde's face and finding no lines of jest, no mirthful twinkle. A small sigh escaped him as he keyed up the viewscreen. The system flashed to life, and a small warning popped up as Bagthak oriented the _Zanna_ properly and began to maneuver her toward Craxan Prime.

"What's that?" Cthinde crowded into Bagthak's space, peering intently at the screens, although he did not know how to interpret them or what to look for. Bagthak shoved him out of the way unceremoniously, his eyes scanning the _Zanna_'s star system report. It was either disastrous or a stroke of extraordinary luck, depending on the view one took.

"Human military. Lots of it." A pause, as he scanned. "Aside from two mining freighters loaded with carbauxite, there are five large battleships." Another pause. "They _are_ armed, but I don't think they know we're here." He silently thanked Paya for the cloak.

Cthinde howled suddenly, clapping Bagthak on the shoulder. "It's about fuckin' time we got some real Hunting done!" he crowed.

Bagthak shook his head. "We need to do some thinking before we just jump into this. Let me spend the day scanning them and determining the risk."

Cthinde nodded. "Do whatever you have to, Bagthak."

Bagthak was surprised. He hadn't expected the agreement so easily, least of all from Cthinde.

"It just means we'll have to account for double tomorrow," Cthinde grinned.

"I don't think that is a wise idea either," Bagthak groused.

"Quit thinking and start scanning. I want to know everything about their movements and their purpose by tomorrow." The Leader was almost gleeful, and Bagthak shook his head. Something was wrong with Craxan Prime. Human military didn't just 'show up' out of nowhere. They were here for a reason, and he had a nagging suspicion that it wasn't entirely unrelated to the human Escthta snatched from the claws of the Hard Meat so many months ago.

**xXx**

"We're go for launch, sir?"  
"You are, Lieutenant." Captain Arnold Hatch's chiseled features looked even grimmer than they usually did.

"I'll tell the men. Thank you, sir."  
"This is not a walk in the park, Harper. There're bugs down there, and worse. Don't thank me for this."

"We'll stomp those bugs flat. You don't have to worry about my platoon; we're ready for those bugs, sir."

"Try to get yourself back in one piece, Lieutenant."

"Sir!"

Lieutenant Travis Harper was what might have been known as a career soldier in older times, but these days, Marines didn't just hop in and hop out of the military. All soldiers that were part of MSF Herculis, here on the fringes of known space, were there because they wanted to be. Harper prided himself on having the 'winningest' platoon in the regiment and he constantly jockeyed with two other Lieutenants for best platoon in the Division.

Harper's Hellcats were veterans of the Japanese invasion of some Network worlds, and had survived some encounters with bugs, with minimal losses. They were loaded for bear, plated in acid-resistant armor and body suits under that to protect them from the acid blood that would be spilled. The two Smartgunners, Spiers and Evans, had been cleaning their rigs for days, waiting for the go-ahead from command. Now that the order had come down, tempers would settle, and they could get into the serious business of kicking some ass.

**xXx**

The next morning turned up a great deal of information— enough, in Bagthak's opinion, to call off the Hunt.

The five starships were part of human military, and over the time Bagthak had observed them, each had sent down various transports, which might be full of supplies or infantry. If he was the betting sort, he'd bet 2 loads of troops and three loads of support, and that put the odds squarely against them. This was a known Hive world, and while he didn't doubt that the _kainde amedha_ had something to do with the military presence, he felt naked in orbit with the human ships. Their cloak was not perfect; humans had seen through it before. He wanted the _Zanna_ away from this planet, the further the better. They were better off avoiding this planet at all costs.

Cthinde would hear none of it. No matter the number of times Bagthak outlined the obvious risks, he shook them off, speaking of the glorious Hunt. This kind of infectious mania had accompanied him on previous Hunts for humans, and Bagthak again doubted Cthinde's real reasons for Hunting the _pyode_ _amedha_, the small pink creatures that suddenly seemed to be crawling over every world.

Eventually, Bagthak suited himself up, wrapping up the armring of keys with the tails of the cloth that bound them. They didn't clank together when he was done, and he folded the ends underneath the band. His armor went on piece by piece, including his burner. The navigator trusted the guidance systems with his life, and he pulled his mask on, attaching the hoses with a practiced hand. The shoulder cannon came to life, peering over his right shoulder like an inquisitive pet, and he deactivated it with a mandible before walking through the ship to the pods that would drop them on Craxan Prime.

Cthinde and four other senior Blooded were waiting, and Cthinde was talking animatedly. Bagthak smelled the musk in the air, the excitement for the Hunt. Human military were hard to come by, and everyone appreciated the challenge. It was Bagthak's first Hunt for humans since before his candidacy for Leadership.

With Cthinde stirring up the Hunting musk, the room was fairly thick with expectations and apprehension. Bagthak could see the same signs in the Blooded that he had seen on dropships to Councils or before honor-challenges. They bounced on the balls of their feet, moving weight back and forth on each leg and pacing.

"Bagthak! Glad to see you could join us!" Cthinde clapped the navigator's shoulder and brought him over to the insertion pod nearest his own.

"Just because I don't think it's a smart idea doesn't mean that I'm going to sit around playing _rith'ri'ghan_ with the Young Bloods," Bagthak retorted.

"A wise decision," Cthinde quipped with a smile.

**xXx**

"We have colonists down there that have not responded to repeated attempts to contact them. We know from orbital reconnaissance that there are three bug hives and one is within 200 km of the drop point. We have two objectives. First, we need to identify survivors and assist them in getting the hell off that rock. Second, we need to kill as many of those bugs as we can and get the hell off that rock ourselves. ALL people, Marine, Weyland or otherwise coming off Craxan Prime will be screened for xeno infestation in quarantine. Questions?"

"Are they giving the Colony up? It's like the bugs won!" Bruno Paxton, the Warrant Officer in Section A. He was a stocky man with a constant five o'clock shadow and a bad dip habit.

"Paxton, you know that bugs ain't like fightin' humans. They're relentless and they don't give a damn about preservin' architecture or art. When they're the ones overrunning you, best get the hell out and worry about ways to get them back later."

"Why not just nuke them from orbit?" The driver, Elliott Boyd. Of course he would want to nuke them from orbit.

"We're not prepared to give up on those civvies yet. When we've got the line on the civilians, we'll talk about nukes." Harper looked around. "Any one else?" He looked at his soldiers, each of them staring back at him with flinty eyes, already priming themselves for action.

"Section A, you're with me. Corporal Chapa, you have Section B." The corporal barked an affirmative and collected his half of the platoon over by their dropship, a UD-4 Cheyenne.

Section A gathered around Harper, each one paying attention to his briefing.

"Our drop point is the closest surface town to the mines, where the mines' base of operations was. Weyland doesn't want us there, but we don't give a damn about Weyland. We're going to find their center of operations, try to establish an uplink, get a list of personnel and their families. Then we'll split into squads and look for survivors. If you get xenos, radio immediately and get the hell out. Take them out in open areas."

"We know the drill, Top," Sherwin mumbled, flipping a poker chip in his hand and catching it as it came down. "We can handle a few bugs."

"This ain't a few bugs. This is a shitload of 'em. And Her Majesty herself might even make an appearance. You never know. Use your instincts, and use each other."

Harper straightened up. A note of machismo crept into his voice, as it must in all speeches filled with bravado. "Alright, Marines! We're gonna hit these fuckers fast, and we're gonna hit 'em hard!"

A cheer went up from the group of twenty-some odd soldiers, their clenched fists and focused faces the badge of their pride as the best soldiers humanity had to offer.

"Give 'em hell, give 'em Hellcats!" Section A roared together, their adrenaline up, blood pumping and guns ready.

They filled the UD-22 Navajo dropship like ants, strapping themselves into the transport. The smell of bloody metal and sweat rose as their bodies warmed the harnesses.

"God, what is that _smell_?" Chantal Lister wrinkled her nose and then looked at the Marine next to her, Rusty Spiers. He grinned at her, his tousled brown hair and freckles giving him a boyish look. "Hey, Chantal," he worked around a wad of gum in his mouth.

"Tell me you're wearing clean socks."

"Just the lucky ones for me, baby."

"Ugh," she groaned, and made a big show of turning to her left, away from the fragrant feet of the Smartgunner. She found instead the company of Sam Metcalfe, all-around good guy and Private First Class. He was in a team with Carlotta Mason, a sultry brunette with dusky skin and a cocktail of mixed blood. They worked well together, as Chantal did with Chips.

Chantal looked around at the other Marines. The pilot was making last minute preparations, and the W/O was talking with Vickerman about formations. Gilly looked exasperated with Bruno, but she put up with his repetitive instructions and formations; sometimes she even got a few ideas from them.

Jack "Chips" Sherwin was sitting across from her and he smiled at her, rubbing the poker chip between his fingers. She had gotten rather fond of him since his joining the platoon the previous year, and their bed had been the same for the last few months. He had improved her aim, given her the best oral in years, and helped her through the death of her brother in another unit. He winked at her, and she smiled back.

"You ready?" he mouthed at her. She nodded. She was ready for anything.

The dropship's engines powered up, and the overhead locks came down over their shoulders. Gilly and Bruno had stopped talking, and Paul was mumbling Psalm 23. Chantal whispered the words with him, their voices lost in the deafening roar of machinery. Roberto's mouth was working too, the words of prayer comforting, even if the words were not those of his religion.

Chantal said Amen, and looked over at Carlotta, sitting next to Chips. They were playing rock-paper-scissors for the right to go searching for survivors; loser had to make the uplink. Carlotta won with paper over rock, and she pumped her fist with a "Yes!" hissed between her teeth. She cradled her M41A and patted the gun affectionately. A glance up caught Chantal's eye, and although the women had been rivals for Jack's bed, they had smoothed over their differences long ago— you had to, when your life potentially depended on the other person.

"You ready for this, Mason?" Chantal shouted.

"Man, them bugs are in for whole lotta trouble!" Carlotta shouted back. The bad pun was the same one she made on each drop, and it soothed Chantal. She liked it when things were the same, when familiarity prevailed. If there was anything she was hoping for, it was an 'ordinary' mission: get in, get out, get wasted.

Below, on the surface of Craxan Prime, Weyland's mining ops headquarters sprawled like a metal spider. A large pit quarry gashed the earth, and now that the dropship had entered the first layer of the atmosphere, in a controlled fall toward the planet, the scale of the operation was dumbfounding.

"Do we have any idea on where the people are in this maze?" Mason looked toward the blue-hazed nose of the dropship as they approached the landing point.

"Last communication was weeks ago; once we get on the ground, the uplink should be able to find their ID tags." Gilly shouted.

"In the stratosphere now," Szekely said from the cockpit.

"Understood," Gilly replied into her mouthpiece. The roar was not nearly so loud as the Navajo switched functions from punching holes through atmosphere to transport on the surface.

"We'll land here, at the centerpoint. From there, we'll fan out." The pale blonde looked up. "Who won?"

Chips thumbed at Mason. "She did."

"Mason, take first squad and secure the area. Chips, you and second squad get that uplink going. The Eisenhower will be able to amp the signals of civilian chips. Once we have set up a base, we'll go section by section, collecting people until we've got them all, sealing the doors behind us. And you know what to do with xenos." Gilly lifted a hand to her headset and then nodded.

Mason and Chips nodded back, and the overhead locks lifted. Buckles snapped and fell to the floor as they shouldered their gear, the HUDs and Smartguns coming down and strapped on. The weight of the dropship settled on her hydraulic feet and the ass-end of her dropped out.

Boots thudded down the walkway, and Mason's teams fanned out over the landing pad, scanning the abandoned cargo crates and tarps for bugs. When nothing moved after them, they set up the pathway for Chips' squad. Grigson was the first there, plugging in a code scanner and applying military emergency override codes. The doors sprang open and the footpath lit up, lights chasing themselves to Operations.

Grigson blinked and turned to Chips uneasily. "Uh, that was easy."  
"I don't think I have to say it, but that was too easy," Chips said, idly stroking the poker chip taped to his gun. A soft breeze brushed over them, and there was no smell of death, no smoke, no rot.

"Where the fuck are the bugs?" Metcalfe wondered out loud.

"They'll get here, Sam. Ain't nothing to worry about until they do." Mason dropped her gun and patted her teammate on the shoulder.

"Let's get in there and see what we can do about getting this job done so we can get off this rock."

**xXx**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _As you can see, this story is a vastly different tone from Quality of Resonance. The chapters are shorter, and this has more of the action people expect out of our fandom. _

_Thanks to Sara, who beta'd parts of the dialogue and runs the Predaphiles BBS. Thanks also to olgite, who makes a great late night companion. Check out her fiction :D_


	2. Rescue

_See Author's Notes at the end._

**xXx**

"_C'jit_!" Cthinde swore as the dormant razorgrass hulls sliced at him. His insertion pod had landed in a particularly thick patch of the native plant, their delicate moisture buds sealed inside their thick skins for the winter. He left small traces of his blood on their sharp edges as he muscled through their closely grown ranks to meet the other Hunters, gathered in the clearing made by Bagthak's insertion pod.

Dhranak and Nuande were already deep in conversation about the cold that surrounded them. The Craxan winter was young, but the thin atmosphere and dark of night made the razorgrass prairie colder than Cthinde had expected. He thumbed his wire heating harness on and welcomed the warmth against his skin. A small feeling of doubt seated itself in his mind and Cthinde wondered briefly if Bagthak had been right about this Hunt after all. The moment of indecision was quickly discarded, blown away like his breath that fogged in the pre-dawn air.

Hrarauk was doing a last-minute sharpening of his blades, the lasertool's light eerie in the blue darkness. Avuraun, the closest thing to an ascetic in the Clan, was standing off to the side, mask inscrutable, but bent back to look upon the heavens. Cthinde was familiar with Avuraun's faith, though its vehement expression made him slightly uneasy. It often reminded him of the kind of outbursts Escthta had been prone to after the encounter with the large Bathyrian in the Council Hall.

Cthinde closed the distance and as he arrived, the heads of others came up and they gathered with him. Their quick attention to him soothed any misplaced feathers, and they watched attentively as he loaded a three-dimensional representation of the human compound on a projector in his wrist console.

Bagthak did not find the human installment to be as boxy and repugnant as most human structures; from space he saw that it looked like set of mandibles, with two appendages on each side of a central unit. It had a symmetry that he enjoyed looking at, with a feeling that he might be observing himself in their architecture.

"We are here," Cthinde said, pointing to the edge of the compound, where one enormous limb of the compound was most exposed. "The humans landed their gunship between the limbs, in the center, about an hour ago. They're here to answer a distress signal from the native humans." That was all the rudimentary translator on the ship had been able to glean from the beacon that bleated for help from the planet's surface- who set up a beacon like that and did not mean to call for aid? He looked up at the Clan. "Teams or solo?" he asked, taking votes for who wanted to hunt in groups and who wanted to hunt on their own.

"With human militia, I recommend teams," Bagthak interjected.

Hrarauk hesitated and then nodded, locking his mask's hoses into place. "Teams."

A glance at Dhranak and Nuande brought a pair of nods and Cthinde grunted, pleased. His Clan was cautious when it came to Hunting humans and it showed on their trophy walls; they had fewer scars and excellent trophies. A smart Leader knew when to lead and when to listen and now was the time to listen.

"Bagthak, you're with me." The navigator nodded and they cloaked themselves as the sky blushed. Their hike through the razorgrass was not silent, and even Bagthak muttered curses as the jagged spines scratched him.

The clearing around the human entrance was half-taken up by a garage, where Cthinde presumed their hovering landcruisers were kept. The side door was open, wavering slightly in the breeze. Cthinde didn't need to look inside to know that there would be no body there; a drag mark appeared in the dirt that lead up to the door, and soon after that, it disappeared.

As they neared the large doors, Cthinde spied telltale claw marks on doors, the paint abraded away from steel, and drag marks that lead off into the razorgrass. Bagthak's groan was audible when Cthinde's hand touched a dark patch and came away sticky with _te-dqi_, the thick secretions of the Hard Meat.

Bagthak stared hard at Cthinde, and then spoke, his already deep voice darkened with concern. "This changes things."

"On a world with three mature Hives? Don't tell me you didn't take this into account."

"I had, but—"

"Then let us Hunt what we are given."

"Cthinde, we are not prepared to face an alien hive strengthened by the ready availability of hosts." Bagthak nodded at the compound. "They must have bred thousands of drones for them."

"It is a fortunate thing that we should find both of our favorite prey in one place. Let's take advantage of Paya's good graces," Cthinde replied, clapping Bagthak on the shoulder.

"Let us go in Paya's name," said Avuraun, his voice quietly reverent.

"Paya be damned," Hrarauk growled. "Today, Cetanu is our companion!"

**xXx**

"We're in," Chips muttered into his commlink. Rusty and Grigson moved in on point, and each kept their weapon steady, searching the darkness for movement. Chips and Chantal moved into the newly unlocked Operations next, the chaser light path flashing their shadows all over the consoles. Chips found the main console and tapped it once, the light from the display blinding in the darkness of the room. With a few commands, power surged through dormant conduits, illuminating lights and powering consoles on all over the room. The displays began to compile summaries of activity, going through boot checklists and reporting anomalies.

"Sweep the room and secure it." Vickerman unloaded her shoulder pack; it contained the emergency code keys that would force the Weyland compound to uplink to the Eisenhower. The main console's top lifted, like a historic school desk, and she opened the protocols, inserting the keys and leaving their large plastic tags clattering against the display.

"Sir. Room is secure." Grigson reported what the bright white lights revealed, but with bugs in the cards, no one wanted to be over-confident.

"Lister, Sherwin." The words held a command in them, and they moved to Gilly's side, although each used their non-dominant hand to grip the override keys, unwilling to sacrifice gun readiness for the keys.

"On my mark. Three, two, one, mark." The keys turned as one, and the top of the console turned green. The keys were removed and stowed back in the shoulder pack. Gilly lowered the top and punched in her clearance codes, and established the uplink with the Eisenhower. She reached for her microphone, patching it into the console.

"Eisenhower, this is Craxan 1, do you copy?"

A few seconds, and then a crackling response came through. "Loud and clear, Vickerman."

"Uplink established. Start a background transfer of computer records so we can find out exactly what went on here."

"Roger that, Craxan 1." A pause. "Command wants to know the personnel situation down there."

"There's no personnel, so there's no situation," Gilly replied tartly. "Can you BOL all the chips down here?"

Silence stretched for an almost rude amount of time and then the Eisenhower responded, "Understood. Sending down a breath-of-life command to all civilian chips."

All personnel tracking chips worked on "biobatteries"- batteries energized by the electrical signals that travel through the muscles in which they're embedded. After an initial period of power storage, the chips ran on the energy from the host alone. When those signals failed, the chip shut itself down to preserve power. The chips were also programmed to shut down if contact with the main computer was lost; this would save the bearers from being discovered by enemy forces. The breath-of-life command briefly awakened the chip and forced it to broadcast the location and status of its owner.

The console displayed an alert and then the locations and status of all personnel on site, each showing up as a color-coded light and tag on the layout of the compound. The compound's sprawling limbs were each unimaginatively named after a Greek letter; the external wings were Alpha to the west and Delta to the east. Inside Alpha and Delta was nested another set of 'legs', Beta and Gamma, from west to east. Legs were connected to each other only by emergency crawlspaces. The large thorax of the metal spider (as Gilly had begun to think of it) was where Operations was housed, as well as recreational facilities. To the north, beyond the landing pad where the Navajo rested, were the mines themselves and their cargo yards.

The problem quickly became obvious: there were not enough tags to account for all the people who must have been living and working here. A few taps on the console screen displayed a scrolling list on the right side of the display, names of people unaccounted for. Some had small notations by them, put in by the resources division, flagging them for investigation by Weyland-Yutani's people. The company profited from the mining of carbauxite, but they also did little to help colonists on worlds known to be within the xenomorph's seeding grounds, in the hopes that they might have the feared aliens fall into their lap, a gift of bioweaponry unmatched in modern times. In the presence of xenomorphs, carbauxite profits were expendable.

As chips lit up, responding to the Eisenhower's proverbial trumpet, some blue lights appeared instead of red. These were 'status unknown' responses; a second, more direct inquiry could shed some light on the fates of their owners, good and bad. Gilly hurriedly punched them up, looking through the statistics. There was a heart rate, as well as blood pressure on several, but the chip couldn't seem to decide whether they were alive. "_That's _not good," Gilly muttered quietly. She looked at the blue lights, small groups of them clustered at the tips of each wing, each one a possible xenomorph nursery. One group flickered green and Gilly shouted in surprise. "We got live ones!"

Their posts forgotten, Chips and Chantal crowded the console screen, looking at the dim green blips. A group of seven individuals at the end of Beta wing strengthened, glowing brightly. Delta also strengthened, and then suddenly winked out.

"Jesus," Chips breathed.

"What's the story, Gilly?" Mason and Metcalfe appeared in the doorway out of breath, doubtless from Gilly's shout over the section's commlink.

"We got live civilians," she said shortly. "But they won't last long."

"Let's get in there and get 'em out, then," Metcalfe replied, his voice filled with a sudden urgency.

Gilly nodded. "Strongest signals are in Beta. Second Squad will go check them out. You take Alpha Wing. Those signals are intermixed with blues, so be careful." Her voice carried the warning of xenomorph infestation, which commonly produced a 'status unknown' reply.

"When things are clear and evacs are lifted to Quarantine, we'll take Gamma and Delta." She paused. "Those are all blue, so we may not get very far with them."

"Sir!" Mason and Metcalfe moved out of the room. Mason turned the corner, and found Muñoz and Evans looking toward them, the portable laser welding systems stowed on backframes, ready for use. The Hispanic man smiled widely as they approached and lowered his gun.

"Heard Vickerman on the comm; we got a purpose, Mason?"

Mason grinned and clapped Muñoz on the shoulder. "Yes, we do."

**xXx**

The move through Alpha wing was quick; none of the intermittent locks had been engaged. A cursory inspection of the residential units that lined each side of the wing found time stopped inside them; one unit had a knife and a half-sliced piece of fruit on a plate, still waiting to be eaten. Another unit had been blanketed in flame-retardant foam, triggered by a foodwarmer that had caught fire after days of extended operation. On the third investigation, a corpse in an advanced state of decay had been found, and the smell was enough to deter them from opening any other units without haz-mat gear.

The walk was long, but went by fairly quickly. Evans and Muñoz went first, in standard two-by-two cover formation, Evans advancing the first round in his Smartgun into the chamber by hand before they even set out. Muñoz was equally cautious with his weapon, setting it from single-round to four-round burst, settling the motion tracker around his torso within reach. Every 50 paces, they stopped to take readings, and Muñoz would issue the clear, and they'd advance another 50 paces. They continued in this way for half an hour, when they reached the entrance to the cargo bay at the end of Alpha Wing, where the blue and green lights were supposed to be. Mason and Metcalfe caught up quickly and Mason looked at Muñoz in the dim light.

"Any movement?"

Muñoz shook his head, and the motion tracker's screen remained void of blips.

Mason reached up to her microphone, holding it close to her mouth and resting the butt of her rifle on her hip, the muzzle pointed up in the air. "Vickerman, we don't get any motion here in Alpha."

"Console still shows three green signals, Mason."

"How many blues?"

"…five."

"Understood." Mason released the microphone stalk, which recoiled back to its original position and brought the muzzle of her rifle down. "Open 'er up," she said, with a nod toward the large door's control panel. Evans took one hand off the Smartgun and mashed the open button, and the door slid open, grinding gears as it crept into the wall. The yawning blackness beyond was quickly solved by Roberto, who found the small habitat console just inside the door and keyed up the lights.

The fluorescent lights bathed the two-level room in cold light; the door they walked through was at the end of a catwalk on the second floor, the lower level cluttered with boxes. A basketball court had been painted on the floor, though the goal was not visible, stowed away for the receipt of goods into the bay. Barrels had been set up in a barricade at half-court, the flanks protected by large crates and the back of the 'fort' shunted up against the exterior door. Canvas was draped over some of the boxes, hiding the inside of the fort from their view.

The teams split, with Gun team moving around left on the catwalk, Evans leading with the Smartgun. Mason and Metcalfe took the other side, moving quietly over the grating and slowly down the stairs, the muzzles of their M41A rifles swinging side to side. "Sweep the room," Mason said low into her mic, and she saw Evans and Muñoz across the room, nodding at them. They nodded back and proceeded to sweep the edges of the room, checking the backs of crates and pallets of boxes. They met on the lower level underneath the door, even Mason's face darkened.

"Anything?"

"Some evidence of a struggle. Expended cartridges, over by the stairs." Evans kept his words quiet, controlled, short. Mason knew that this must bring back memories for him; his own family slaughtered by bugs, he had only escaped by hiding in a drum of non-potable water for a week.

The fort, a pile of boxes and drums, was the only place left to check. Carlotta felt fear begin to creep up her neck; she didn't like the unnatural fort, stacked up in front of an exterior door. The whole situation stank of bugs, and it made her antsy. She looked to Muñoz. "Anything on IR?"

"Yeah, a couple of signals from the barrels," he replied, looking through his eyepiece. The Smartgun drifted to the red blotches, and Muñoz didn't draw it away. He, too, had some experience with civilians hosting bugs. They threw themselves at humans, driven by some infernal, alien-furnished drive to kill as many as possible. They advanced on the fort cautiously, splitting teams again, each of them curling around the ends of the barricades.

The canvas draped over the top hid a grisly scene; several of the civilians had holed up here, and more than one had shot himself as the bugs closed in. Dark brown slicks, left by bodies that had since been dragged off, disappeared beyond the exterior door. Muñoz looked at the motion detector hopefully, but nothing responded.

"Check the barrels," Evans said quietly, after looking in the IR-targeting eyepiece. "Third from the left."

Mason moved through the blood, and knocked on one of the barrels. _Shave and a haircut…_

Two knocks came back.

The next few minutes were blurred together, as two children were pulled from barrels. Emptied of their contents, they'd proven effective shelters for the boy and girl, as well as their father, who was released from a crate on the other side of the fort. All were emaciated and dehydrated, but thankful to see the Marines. Mason met the father's reddened eyes, her gaze direct.

"Are you hosting?"

He shook his head. "The bugs never made it back this far."

Carlotta gave him a puzzled look. "But the blood…"

The man shook his head again. "We tried to stop them, but they kept talking about bugs and how they'd never get them. I should have taken the gun away from them." He looked saddened.

"Then the drag marks, that was you?"

"I couldn't leave them in here; the bugs can smell."

Mason reached up for her microphone. "Vickerman, we have three survivors."

"Excellent. Hot-step them up here and we'll start the Quarantine procedures." A pause. "What about the blues?"

"No sign of civilians other than the survivors." Mason looked at the man. "Were the other civilians chipped?"

"Yeah." He looked down at his hands, the bones all too visible in his starved state. "I cut them out."

"You… what?" Mason stared at him and then looked at Evans, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable with the man and his story.

"For their families," the man explained, although it didn't explain much at all. One of the children coughed in the silence.

Mason relayed the information to Vickerman, who was quiet and then responded, "Bring them in and begin sealing off the area."

"Gun Team, begin escorting them to Quarantine." Mason said, and they trooped up the stairs, the children having trouble with the climbing, their muscles slightly atrophied after all the time spent cooped up. When everyone was out, Mason and Metcalfe did a last sweep from the upper level and returned to the entrance. With a final look around, they stepped back through the interior door. Metcalfe unshouldered the laser welding machine, used for its fast weld and cooling properties. It was not a strong bond, but it would be enough to slow down any xenomorphs that came in the exterior door.

"We're at Lock 1," came Evans' voice over the simplex commlink.

Mason had already picked up the welding machine and slapped the mask down over her head, her rifle slung over her back.

"Understood," Mason replied. "How is the father doing?"

"He's… fine," Evans said slowly, although it was clear from his tone of voice that everything was not fine.

She looked at Metcalfe, who was looking anxiously down the corridor at the headlamps on the two Marines. "We'll be finished here soon. Go ahead and get those people to Quarantine. Come back if you can, but don't worry about us."

"You sure, Lotta?" It was Roberto this time.

"Yeah, she's sure, just go," Metcalfe said into his mic. "Get those people to Quarantine."

The radio went silent, and Metcalfe dropped the muzzle of his gun a little. The headlamps of Theo and Roberto bobbed off in the distance, and finally turned a corner, heading down Alpha Wing toward the common area. The mood turned dark as the glow from their lights faded.

"How you doing there, Lotta?" Small talk was Sam's way of getting through the tough spots.

She snapped off the torch and lifted the mask. "Just finished. Let's keep moving."

Metcalfe picked up the welding machine, his gun hanging useless from his shoulder belt, and they walked to the next lock in silence, welding it shut behind them.

It wasn't until the third lock that Metcalfe stopped suddenly, looking at his partner.

"Lotta, something's been following us."

"Yeah, I was wondering if you'd noticed." Her voice was stiff, and his headlamp showed her lips tightened around the words she spoke.

"Shit," Metcalfe muttered. "We don't have a motion detector; who knows how many of them there are."

"You think bugs?"

"What else could it be?"

They paused, looking back in the darkness behind them, searching for movement and meaning.

"A crazy survivor?" Lotta gripped the magazine on her rifle, wiping the sweat from her palms on her pants leg. "Would that be too optimistic?"

Metcalfe chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah. It would."

"Would you listen to me if I ordered you to get the fuck out of here?"

Metcalfe grunted. "You don't outrank me, Mason. Besides, ladies first."

She smiled at him. "Sam, you know I ain't no lady."

He hmmphed and then reached up for his microphone stalk, thumbing it over to multiplex. "Vickerman, this is Metcalfe."

"Go ahead, Metcalfe."

"We got a small insect problem over here in Alpha Wing."

Silence stretched on the comm, and then Gilly came on again. "You're out there, Metcalfe. What do you advise?"

"Weld the locks shut."

"With you in there?" Gilly's voice lost the edge her rank afforded. "That's crazy, Metcalfe. Mason, are you with him on this?"

" 'Fraid so, ma'am. They've been following us for about two hundred feet."

"And no attacks?"

"I think they're waiting for us to lead them back to our 'nest'," Metcalfe interjected.

Another block of silence passed, and then Gilly came back on. "Lead them back up Alpha. Gun Team will meet you and provide support."

The last few words were lost in a flash of metal, the glint of a headlamp off a pair of blades. Sam fell to the side, his throat a mess of red and tangled flesh, gouts of blood pumping out of his severed aorta. He moved as if to rise, but collapsed, his life pooling around him and running into the scored floor. Carlotta was frozen with fear and then shaking with anger. She hefted her pulse rifle, advancing the first round into the chamber.

"Seal that shit up now, Gilly!" she hollered into the mic. "There's something else in here and it ain't no bug!"

**xXx**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _Sorry this chapter has been so long in coming. The chapters are shorter for a reason; it's supposed to be easier for me to get them out than QoR chapters. Alas, it is not so._

_Thanks to Sara for beta-ing this chapter. And a shout-out to CG, who needs to be on the internets more. _


	3. Meeting

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _See Author's Notes at the end._

Cthinde was amused by the warrior's panicked response. He was obviously not used to being bested by other, superior hunters. His comrade had fallen easily enough, and Cthinde stood still for a moment, hot with the glory of the Hunt. He lived for this excitement, the moment when he cut a human from this world with nothing more than his own strength and cunning. It thrilled him in a way nothing else did, and he felt totally, completely alive. It had almost been _too_ easy, he reflected solemnly as he watched the human's eyes darken.

The other warrior had hollered at him, cursing him no doubt, and the rifle was raised. Cthinde loved it when they used guns; it was all they knew, and when the bullets were deflected by his armor, they were helpless. He advanced toward the human, listening to its small voice stretch thin with fear and anger. It did indeed fire bullets at him, and he jerked as the bullets hit his chest, but the armor was designed to turn them aside. He was almost on him now, towering over the short soldier. He clenched his fist, advancing his _ki'cti-pa_ out to a striking distance.

The butt of the gun in his solar plexus was unexpected. He coughed, doubling over, and the human's knee connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling on the floor. He was dazed for a moment, and then a heavy weight sat on his chest and refused to move.

**xXx**

Carlotta was shaken by the bulletproof alien, but not deterred. The shimmer in the air like heat was visible even in the low light of the corridors. The shimmer was roughly the size of Elliot, a man she had taken down in spars plenty of times, so she aimed for what she hoped was his stomach with the butt of her gun and then rammed her knee into what she hoped was a face. Whatever it was, it liked to use edged weapons- if it wanted close quarters, she'd give it close quarters.

When it fell, she sat on top of it, feeling for the arms and pressing her feet down on top of them, and resting her gun's muzzle right at its face. "You think you can dodge this, baby?" Her foot flexed to get a better purchase, and the creature underneath her suddenly took form, writhing with electricity.

It was, in a word, male. She was seated on top of rippling pectorals, though they were strangely colored, a kind of reptile-yellow, although she didn't see any scales. Her way of immobilizing his arms was looking more and more inadequate; the thick lengths she pressed her feet into were his wrists; his arms were about as big around as her thigh. His neck was encircled by a protective collar that looked like some kind of mechanical seal; instead of hoping the bullet might go through it, she pushed the hard metal end of her pulse rifle against the unprotected underside of his jaw.

The huge creature beneath her breathed once, and she lifted with his chest. A set of clicks and chitters began to roll out, and she pressed the muzzle deeper into the soft flesh under his mask. "Shut up." The clicks stopped abruptly, and then her own panicked voice filled her ears. _"There's something else in here-"_ and then it stopped.

"What?" She stared at him and he clicked quietly again, slowly using his chin to motion to Carlotta's left. A long sleek head with silvery teeth was materializing out of the low light, creeping quietly toward them, slavering jaws slicking the floor with saliva.

"Good call, Rambo," she said quietly. With an easy motion, she rocked herself off his chest as slow as she could manage. What would happen when the big guy was unrestrained was something she could only guess at, but she hoped he would focus on the new threat and leave her alone.

The bug seemed to sense that its element of surprise was gone, and it hissed before springing toward her. The creature that killed Sam was on its feet the instant she was clear, snapping his legs and back in the air, letting the momentum bring him to his feet. He spun to face the xeno, and took it on hand-to-hand. Carlotta stared, awestruck as the powerfully built creature twisted the xenomorph in his grasp, throwing it to the ground. The black beast spat and snarled, but twin serrated blades separated the front of its head from the back, and the sulphur-yellow insides slopped out, smoking as they dissolved away the floor. Carlotta realized with a start that the acid that was burning into the floor was not consuming the blades on his arm; the edges were as gleaming and sharp as they had been before entering the bug's carapace. "What the hell _are_ you?" she said out loud.

He heard her speak and turned to face her, his mask's cruel lines more visible now, the dark visor an unblinking stare. He twisted his wrist, slinging some of the acid blood off onto the floor; it sizzled on the thinly-carpeted concrete. He advanced on her, and the strangeness of his costume, his size, the claws on his hands- this was no colonist, not even close. Humanoid though he was, he was alien.

A movement behind him; she raised her pulse rifle. "Move it, Rambo!" The yell startled him, and he jerked to the side as the pulse rifle whined bullets. Carlotta's xenomorph training hung in the back of her mind: _Aim for the legs, then go for the kill. Immobilize and eliminate._

The bug flipped in the air as bullets blew its legs off the rest of its body; Rambo recovered from his surprise quickly, but when he finally acted, the bug's knees were somewhere far behind it, and all he had to do was cut the head off as he had done with the earlier scout. Taking heads was the only way to make sure they were dead, and she was sure that whatever this thing was, he was used to bugs. He moved like he knew them better than they knew themselves.

_And just what the fuck are you doing, Carlotta? He's a fucking alien. Gun 'im down!_ All her Marine training urged her to waste Rambo, but she stopped herself. This guy was enormous, and the more she looked at him, the more she realized that her little show of sitting on his chest was nothing. He'd let her think she had the upper hand. He could have removed her at any time, tossed her aside like a rag doll, but he hadn't. If he'd been respectful enough to not cut her down on top of him, the least she could do was not shoot him in the back. She lowered the rifle, and stepped forward.

"What the fuck are you that you can take on bugs without weapons?"

The answer was an alarming burst of speed; the blades were out, and she was right in the way. A strong arm wrapped around her waist and curled her out of the way of a piston-tongue aimed at her head. Rambo lifted one enormous leg and planted his foot directly in the chest of the other alien, kicking the xenomorph back nearly ten feet. His foot came down, a heavy crash, and he spread his arms wide, fingers splayed as he faced the recovering bug, a monstrous roar issuing from his throat. It was a deadly challenge, a display of power, and Carlotta found herself simply overwhelmed, frozen in place as the monsters faced off.

**xXx  
**

Cthinde was aware on some level that he had just saved the human warrior. It was born of haste, an ill-considered act that he would have to deal with after this bug. It appeared to be the last of the hive's scouting party, but one could never be sure. He could almost handle _kainde amedha_ without weapons entirely. But their numbers were unclear, and prudence required he keep at least his blades with him; it would be foolish to go to all the effort of hunting a human soldier, only to be unable to collect the trophy. Cthinde and the bug began to circle each other. The battle pressed in on Cthinde's vision, dulling his hearing, until there was nothing left but the Hard Meat and himself. The rush of blood in his temples drowned all thoughts of the surviving human, demanding his focus on the dark beast in front of him; it hissed and spat, and he chattered his eagerness to close the fight in reply. He flexed his wrist, rolling it and making ready to strike.

The _kainde amedha_'s sleek head swayed back and forth to an unknown beat, and it changed its focus; Cthinde saw the shift. He growled. The human was an easier target, and the drone knew on some level that the humans were excitable. Perhaps it planned to sacrifice itself for some bullet-ridden acid spray, but there was no telling what went on in the mind of a drone and the Queen which controlled it. This was HIS prey, dammit, drone or no! Actually, Cthinde no longer even took the skulls of drones, but it was the principle of the thing, or so he told himself.

He tackled the bug even as it lunged at the human, and it screamed at him, the sinews of its jaw stretching open and exposing the ridged piston tongue. It shot forward; he neatly jerked his head out of the way, pushing the alien's long head back with his extended reach. Silvery teeth gnashed, and the thick fingers curled around his wrist, squeezing with surprising strength. The mouth-tongue hissed and shot out again but Cthinde grabbed it mid-fire, snarling at the alien and holding it captive. It keened at him as his grip tightened- he felt the acid blood pulsing against his palm. The fever of battle burned in his veins, and as the alien's working jaws covered his visor in spittle, Cthinde wrenched the tongue out, twisting the flesh and ripping it from the back of the _kainde amedha_'s throat.

Its cries of pain and rage made even Cthinde's skin prickle, and it thrashed, spraying its stinking blood into the air. Cthinde cursed under his breath, pinning the alien and doing his best to avoid the deadly spray. It gurgled and smoked under his heavy hand as he lifted his _ki'cti-pa_ to strike the killing blow, plunging his pair of serrated blades into the head and cutting as cleanly as he could. The Hard Meat stilled, and only when he had completely separated the head from the body did he climb off the body and look for his other kill.

What he found, to his surprise, was the muzzle of a human rifle pointed directly at his head. He froze, and then trilled softly in appreciation for his new situation. The human's armor had come off, and a quick scan found it discarded a few feet away, heavily pocked with acid burns. Crumpled next to it was the human's grey uniform top, just as blood-eaten. His attention could not be held elsewhere for long, however; the human was rather more interesting under that uniform than he had expected.

"It's a female," he said out loud, sounding surprised.

"What did you expect?" Bagthak stepped forward from a way down the corridor, remaining cloaked. "Surely her voice tipped you off."

Cthinde shook his head, which earned him a jerk of the rifle and he stilled. The human's gun remained focused on Cthinde, but she barked a warning to the alien voice, gesturing with the barrel at Cthinde.

"I think she means to kill me, Bagthak," Cthinde said wryly.

"I think she does," came the reply. "Your plan?"

"Disarm her, I suppose," Cthinde chattered. He hooked his ankle around hers, jerking quickly, and chuckling at her yelp as she landed on her rear. The gun, to his dismay, didn't fall from her grasp, but the moment was enough for him to gain the upper hand. He crouched over her, straddling her as she had him, his blades out and at her throat. She quieted almost immediately, and he took the calm in hand, using it to inspect this fighting human female.

His attention was drawn first to her breasts; she was generously gifted in this respect, and the thin white tank top, sole survivor of an alien bloodbath, was doing its best to provide some measure of modesty— and failing miserably. His knees tucked neatly against her sides, holding her steady should she decide to fight. She muttered what was doubtless a curse, and looked up at him with rage-filled eyes that might have caused lesser beings to shiver. Her skin was a delightful nutty color, a pleasant cream-brown that he associated with the females of his own species.

Her skull and features were beautiful by human standards; this made them perhaps uglier to the yautja crouched over her. But Cthinde found something in her face while she was underneath him, something that dug at him until he shook his head to clear the thoughts that wandered before his eyes unbidden.

She didn't resist when he tugged the rifle out of her dirty hand and shoved it across the hall. Another, more vile human curse left her mouth and he chuckled. "You're lucky I'm in such a good mood, human," he said, standing.

Bagthak was dumbfounded at Cthinde's good humor, but it was only when Cthinde stepped over to take his trophy from the other soldier that he realized the reason for Cthinde's mercy; it was to skin and trophy her comrade in front of her. He was no one to judge the methods of a Leader, but this was perhaps too much. Cthinde made a hole in the human's back and began to cut away the flesh and ribs, pulling the spinal column free. Even before it was half-done, the female was sick on the floor, heaving whatever passed for human food out onto the acid-pitted carpet. He felt a touch of pity for the female; their roles in life were different from those of the yautja, and to see a comrade dismembered must have been difficult at best.

"Why not kill her, Cthinde?" he said quietly, the sound hollow in the otherwise deserted corridor.

"Her?" Cthinde looked up from his bloody business with a shrug. "Look at her. A little blood and she's sick all over the place." He turned back to peeling the male's scalp free from the skull. "That's no challenge."

Bagthak stepped forward to where the human was resting on the floor, still feeling ill-at-ease. There was nothing he could do for her, of course, with Cthinde right there. Putting her down with a cannon shot after her humiliating retching seemed dishonorable. He looked down at her, and when she looked back at him, he was surprised and gentled by the fiery emotion he saw in her eyes.

**xXx**

Carlotta lay weakly on the floor, trying not to look at the limp pile of flesh and organs that used to be her teammate. She felt clammy, and when another heave threatened, she let it come, because she had no strength to resist it.

The alien was making quick work of Sam, cutting and pulling with horrible cracking and squelching noises. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was somewhere else for just a moment, before a step near her temple keyed up her soldier's response. She opened one eye and looked up.

His large calves and thigh muscles were smeared with pointillist stripes, dark brown brushstrokes over a cream-colored canvas. He had a half-skirt over one hip, and a pair of plated metal tassets. _ Those look largely ornamental; they wouldn't guard against anything_. A similarly plated codpiece loomed over her, and she chuckled darkly to herself. _That, however, looks like it's barely doing the job_. A part of her mind, untouched by the gruesome horror in the corner, ventured a joke. _These guys pack some serious heat._

The other humanoid growled some sort of strange phrase, but the tall, quiet one didn't reply. Instead, he knelt, and Carlotta felt his strange rough hand on her temple, brushing her hair away from her face. She jerked away, rolling away from him and leaning up on her elbow. She weakly got to her feet, ignoring the alien's proffered hand. She reached into her boot and pulled out her bayonet. They were never used with the rifles anymore, but the cruel knives were still issued out of habit. After all, a knife could change your position in almost any situation, and their usefulness was not to be underestimated. She wiped the spittle off her chin with the back of her hand and sized up her targets.

They were huge, enormous, even. The other one had stopped his skinning, but only for a moment, and the crouched one was eerily still. They watched her, a pair of bizarre, otherworldly bookends.

"I'm sure I'm the hottest piece of vomit-covered ass you've ever seen," she said, trying to work up some of her Marine training, some of the balls-to-the-wall gusto that she had in spades before the attack.

"But I'm a Hellcat," and her voice found its strength in anticipating the motto that she and her teammates had said together so many times. She saw Sam's limp torso, his ribs sticking out of his skin like the wings of some bloody eagle. Hot tears clouded her vision and then she gritted her teeth and blinked them back, for Sam, for Gilly, for every last goddamn Marine on this rock. Carlotta transferred the knife to her right hand, and yelled at them,

"I'm a Hellcat, from Harper's Hellcats, and this is as far as you're going to get!"

**xXx**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _I'm not dead. Really. You can IM me or email me any time. Also, check out the Predaphiles Network (google it!); I hang out there quite often (instead of writing) and you'll probably find me about most evenings. _

_I have also managed to procure a laptop, so I will be able to procrastinate even MORE effectively than before!_


End file.
